Busybody
by Hannah Lynn McDonald
Summary: Sort of meta on the fact that BBC has an...incomplete archive of old television shows...


_Busybody_

"Just what do you think you're doing, young man?"

His eyes widened and the man jerked backward, startled at being addressed. "I – I beg your pardon?"

"Are you deaf as well?"

"N-no! No, of course not – excuse me," He drew himself up, regaining some dignity, "Who are you?"

"That is none of your business, young man – I did ask you a question."

The young man wilted again, the elder's domineering attitude reminding him of authorities in his life. "I – I'm afraid I don't know who you are – how did you get in here?" He craned his neck to look behind the old man. "This is for employees only – I don't think you work here, Sir -"

"I'm glad to see you have _something_ in your head! I assuredly do not work here, and am quite glad of it."

The young man gaped at him, and the stranger sighed.

"What is your name, hm?"

"D-Doyle, Sir."

He waved him off. "None of that 'sir' nonsense, dear boy – 'Doctor' is quite enough for me."

"...Doctor who?"

"Hm? Nevermind that now." He frowned. "What _are_ you doing?"

"...Talking with you?"

"Yes, Doyle – I can quite easily see that; but what are your doing with those?" He lifted his cane for a moment and pointed at the film cannisters the young man held in his arms.

Startled, the boy looked down at the load he carried. "These?"

The old man winced at the high register the word had entered. "Please, not so loud! There is no need to summon the bats as well!"

"Very sorry..." He mumbled.

"Hm, yes, alright – but! You still have avoided answering my simple question, child."

"These things," He shrugged, "I was simply fetching them for the new film being made in the studio nearby."

He tilted his head and studied the cannisters. "But you seem to have made a mistake – those have already been used!"

"Of course! See, the budget's a bit tighter and we've fresh run out of the blank film, so I was sent down here to fetch up some of the old stuff for use."

The old man stared at him with a semi-affronted and horrified expression, and the young man shuffled his feet.

"...I'm sorry?"

"I should say you are!" He jabbed at the film rolls. "You hold treasures in your hands, and you would simply record over them – lose them forever?"

"But I don't know them!"

"Then you're an idiot." He summed up succinctly. "You will return those and kindly cease this barbaric practice – you only create more trouble for yourself." He nodded sharply and then wheeled away from the young man.

Doyle watched him go, his mouth open in shock. Finally, at the sound of the wind rushing through the corridor, he shook his head and shut his mouth; stepping forward to follow the stranger and get a proper name. However, when he rounded the corner, he found nothing at all amongst the fluttering bits of paper and plastic – nor an exit the stranger could have used. Thoroughly discomfited now, he glanced down at the odd films about highlanders and speckled bands and quickly returned to the storage room, intent on stowing them away where they would never be found.

 _AN: "And what else could it be – a space helmet for a cow?" Sorry... I don't CARE if it was more efficient to film over existing footage for new episodes and suchnot – I'd still gladly slap whoever initiated that practice! And whomever purged BBC! sighs Alas, I am born in the wrong time to do so – I shall have to console myself with six episodes of Holmes instead of sixteen. For those curious, the old man is the First Doctor played by either Cushing or Hartnell – they kept mixing and I've not seen Hartnell's for a while. The young man is named Doyle because Sir Arthur Conan Doyle got tired of Holmes and killed him off – thankfully, that mistake was rectified; while this one cannot be. But still. It was either that or Chesterton – and that simply wouldn't work. (Unless Ian was trying to show why it was a good idea...hmmmm...) Anyway! Thank you for taking the time to read this drivel! Gramercy, and God bless you!_ _6-2-2015_


End file.
